


It's Not Only Ships that Pass in the Night

by catwalksalone



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Plot What Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/pseuds/catwalksalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony receives an unexpected offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Only Ships that Pass in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle, prompt: unlikely, no spoilers but a warning for underage sex. Well, underage by American standards. Tim's a freshman, I think we all know what that means. (Does it mean you should know better, cat?)

The kid is walking down the street towards him. It's not that he looks lost, exactly, but there's a pinched, nervous look about his face even as he looks around him and saunters in what's obviously supposed to be a hey-yeah-I'm-just-out-for-a-stroll manner. Usually, this is when Tony's cop instincts (shiny new though they are) kick in--there's such a thing as too casual and it usually leads to crime. But this kid is different. For a start, he's in an MIT hoodie and chinos that look like they've come straight from the Sears catalog. He's too squeaky clean even for a drug violation. It's possible he's some kind of hacking genius, masterminding the bank heist of the century, but as long as there's no keyboard attached to his fingers, Tony figures the world of finance is safe for another day. Which leads him back to lost.

It's none of his business, he tells himself and then says, "Hey, kid, you okay?" Damn his pledge to protect and serve.

The kid startles, stumbling over his feet to a stop. He's all skinny limbs that he doesn't seem to have quite under control yet, probably fresh off a growth spurt. Tony isn't so far from those days that he doesn't remember how it feels to wake up one morning with your pants an inch too short, which is okay because it turns out you lack the co-ordination to get both legs in them without falling over anyway. He flashes the kid a sympathetic smile.

"Um, I think I lost my group," says the kid. "They were just here, I swear." His lower lip juts out as he looks vaguely around. "Now they're not."

"It's kinda late to be out, isn't it? Shouldn't you all be safely tucked up in bed by now?"

The kid shoves his hands in his pockets. Tony can see them ball into fists. Anger? Nerves? Something else?

"You're not in bed," the kid points out.

"I'm not on a school trip," says Tony. Of course, he kind of is because he's in town for the National Conference on the Drug War (protip: they're losing) that's just as boring as all the school trips Tony remembers. He's pretty sure he's being punished for sleeping with the Captain's daughter. "Listen, do you want me to walk you back to your hotel or your host family or whatever it is you kids do these days? It can get pretty sketchy this time of night."

The kid looks at him and even though his posture is all hunched and full of tension, his eyes are cool and appraising and Tony gets a glimpse of a mind working a million miles an hour. Then the kid ducks his head and looks up at Tony through his curtain of hair. Tony has a weird urge to tuck it behind the kid's ears.

"Can I blow you?" the kid asks.

If he'd punched Tony in the face and stolen his wallet Tony would have been way less surprised. "_What?_"

"I didn't lose my group," says the kid miserably. "Well, I did, but on purpose. I wanted to find out if I...It's okay, it doesn't matter, I'll just-"

"Whoa, kid!" says Tony, grabbing the kid's arm as he turns to go. "What made you think that I-?"

The kid's eyebrows shoot up. "We're on 22nd Street," he says. "Dupont Circle. And you look like-" he waves his free arm towards Tony, "-that."

Tony looks down at the plain gray tee and the faded jeans he's wearing. It's nothing special. Okay, maybe he's packed on some muscle since he'd bought them back in Ohio, and maybe the tee is a little tight across his chest and the jeans cling on his thighs, but they're comfortable, dammit, the clothes he wears when he isn't out to impress. Obviously the legendary DiNozzo hotness transcends clothing. He can't say it comes as a shock.

"I look like I want you to blow me?"

"You look hot," says the kid, looking surprised at his own honesty. "And you're, you know, _here_, so I assumed..."

"Never assume, kid, it makes an ass of..." and then it's Tony's turn to trail off because, okay, _now_ he's aware of his surroundings. And the fact that there are men walking down the street, some in couples, not even trying to hide the fact they have their hands in each other's pants. Somewhere to his left, in the shadows, he can hear noises that mean several federal and local bylaws are being broken, and it's a good thing Tony is way out of his jurisdiction because he probably would be duty bound or something and it's too warm a night for a foot chase.

"I didn't mean...I was just taking a walk," says Tony. "You sit still all day listening to some stuffed shirt asshole who has no clue what it's like to be on the streets with the hustlers and the dealers and the victims and you need a walk."

The kid looks down to where Tony is still holding his arm and then back up. "You know what would be relaxing? A blowjob." His tongue flicks across his lower lip and Tony can't help but stare at the kid's mouth all full and glistening in the street light.

"You don't give up, do you, kid?"

"My mom says I was born half-mule." The kid smiles for the first time and it transforms his whole face. And that's the moment that Tony loses his mind.

Because, "Okay," he says. "Okay."

"Oh my god, really?" says the kid, looking ridiculously grateful, and this is where Tony should stop it because who wants to give a blowjob that much? But he doesn't. Instead, he lets the kid tug him up the street and into the shadows of a building. It's only when Tony's belt is undone and the kid is working on his jeans that he notices where they are.

"Is this a _church_?" he asks, horrified.

The kid looks up from where he's intent on Tony's fly buttons. "I think it's been converted," he says, as if that helps. Well, if Tony's going to be breaking the laws he's sworn to uphold he might as well do it in style. The kid drops to his knees.

He is so going to hell.

He's not hard when the kid touches him for the first time, which isn't strange given the circumstances, and Tony has a split second of really regretting getting into this because the kid is so earnest and Tony doesn't want to hurt his feelings, but then the kid opens his mouth and sucks Tony in and, _god_, a mouth is a mouth, and he's almost dizzy with the way all the blood in his body fights to get to his dick at the same time. It takes everything in him not to grab the kid by his hair and fuck his mouth until he comes.

Instead, he presses his hands against the cool stone and concentrates on breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, as the kid figures out his way around Tony's dick. He's a quick study, picking up on the hitch in Tony's breathing when he hits just the right spot, like pulling almost off and just sucking at the head, and repeating them until Tony is half-crazed. With learning skills like that, the kid is a 4.0 grade average for sure.

He looks down, wanting to see the kid's pretty mouth wrapped around him. There's not a lot of light to see by, but Tony can still make out that the kid's eyes are closed, and somehow, even with Tony's dick sliding in and out of his mouth (which, _Jesus_), he's looking utterly blissed out. It hits Tony like a sucker punch when he realizes the kid has his hand in his own pants and is jerking himself off. He's coming almost before he knows it, hips snapping forward reflexively, dick shoving itself deep into the kid's mouth as the orgasm tears through him leaving him shaky and disoriented and feeling really, really good.

The kid's eyes fly open and he chokes a little, but swallows manfully anyway. Through his post-fuck haze, Tony awards many points for that. He tangles his hand in the kid's hair and pulls his head back, watching his dick slide out and fall from the kid's lips, still half-hard. The kid is watching, too, hand still working in his pants, nostrils flaring, and Tony grins down at him.

"Good job, kid," he says, twisting hair tighter around his hand.

"Tim," gasps the kid, going absolutely still for a second before twitching three times. "Fuck." He pulls out a handkerchief and cleans off his hand. And who the hell has a handkerchief on them at all times, anyway? A boy scout? Tony lets go of the kid's--Tim's--hair and tidies himself up.

"Also? I'm not a kid," says the kid.

"Yeah? I know a freshman when I see one," says Tony. "I have an eye. Admittedly I usually use it on girls, but a talent's a talent. I'd buy you a beer to say thanks, only there's three years until you're legal."

"Five," says Tim, getting to his feet and zipping up his pants.

"The _fuck?_" says Tony, desperately grateful for the wall at his back because apparently his leg muscles have gone on strike.

"Early admissions," says the kid, shrugging. "I'm smart."

"Smart enough to proposition a cop," snaps Tony and Tim's eyes go very, very wide.

They stare at each other in undisguised horror. Sixteen. Six-fucking-teen. Oh, yeah, Tony is going to hell. He's going straight there, no passing Go, no collecting $200 and most definitely with no Get Out of Jail Free card. Tony can see the cogs whirring in the kid's brain, too. It's like a stalemate of worst decisions ever.

Something breaks in him, then, and he laughs because, really? What else can he do? Tim frowns, confused as hell, but then he laughs, too. Smart kid. Tony slides an arm around the kid's shoulder.

"Well, that's a story to not tell the grandkids, huh?" He gives Tim a little shake. "Okay, this is how it's going to play out. I'm going to give you cab fare and you're going to go back to your hotel, finish up your school trip and then head back to Cambridge where you can continue to question your sexuality in a less risky manner. I'm going to go back to _my_ hotel, take a hot shower and beat off to thoughts of Christie Brinkley. Deal?"

"Deal."

Tony fishes out his wallet and hands over $20. "Get straight in a cab," he says, "and don't go picking up any more random men." He has a sudden, horrifying thought. "Jesus, kid, you didn't even ask if I was clean. Are you crazy? Be as gay as you like, be a freaking rainbow, but be _safe_."

Tim's face falls. "I didn't think."

"No," says Tony. "Do better next time." He realizes how that might sound. "I mean, not that you weren't- Because it was- You know what I mean. Okay, shutting up now."

Tim flashes a smile. "Thanks," he says, with an obvious pause.

"Tony," says Tony, filling it.

"Thanks, Tony," says Tim. "For, you know, everything."

"Get out of here," says Tony.

The kid gets and Tony appreciatively watches his ass all the way to the street and into a cab. And, okay, he should probably feel all creepy and wrong and ashamed about it but what's done is done. It's not like they're ever going to meet again. He steps out of the shadow of the building and starts the long walk back to his room.

* * *


End file.
